


My photographer

by ca_te



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-06
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-11 12:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ca_te/pseuds/ca_te
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written on 30 June 2009</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. White wrists

**Author's Note:**

> Written on 30 June 2009

It's going to be an awful day. Matt knows it, he can feel it in the way the bones of his back crack as he gets up. He looks at the sleeping form at his side.

\- You'd better get up and get your ass out of here!

He doesn't like it when the stranger of the night before is still in his bed the morning after.

He goes to the bathroom and closes the door.

He waits to hear the door of the apartment. Then he exits the bathroom and pads in his room. He rummages among the clothes on the floor and founds his pray. He sits on the bed and lights his first cigarette. He doesn't like the taste he has in his mouth and waits for the smoke to cover it.

The light too is sleepy and Matt wonders if may be it's better to go back to sleep. It would be easier. No need to run and take photos of happy families and of models for cheap adds, no need to have someone in his bed to keep the loneliness away. It has always been like this since he left the orphanage. He didn't mind leaving that place, it was creepy and there was always someone beating him and scolding him. But then, once outside, with nothing more than three cigarettes and a bag he felt the loneliness fell on him. He was a virgin when he left that place, now he has lost count of how many men and women have passed through his apartment's door, over his sheets.

Matt thinks that well life sucks, he should have known it from that day a fat police man brought him to the orphanage, he should have known but still he hoped.

He takes a look at the alarm clock. He hates digital numbers, the red lines remain impressed in his eyes. He has always had delicate eyes. Those idiots at the orphanage used to say it was because he was always playing with his games. He has never listened to them, he has never listened to the ones that used to insult him, to beat him, just because he stayed on his own, just because he didn't talk to anyone.

Matt doesn't like the strength that having a conversation requires. He has never really talked to anyone.

Matt gets of the bus. The streets are already filled with people. Students and men and women going to work. He pushes his hands deeper in his pockets and lowers his gaze. He enters the first bar he meets. Inside the air echoes with the sound of cups on plates and of stupid morning chatting. He takes a seat. He doesn't open the menu. Outside cars and busses pass by and Matt feels that his eyes are already tired.

\- …r! Hey!

Matt turns to face the annoying waiter. A blond boy stands by the table, one hand on his hip. Matt knows he must seem some dumb jerk, watching him and not saying anything.

\- Dammit! The hell the costumer is always right!

Matt looks as the guy rolls his azure orbs.

\- Well do you want to be fired?

Matt, elbow on the table and cheek on his hand, looks at those eyes growing wide for a second.

\- What do you want, sir?

\- I'll take a coffee, please.

The blond quirks an eyebrow and turns. Matt looks at his pretty ass. He feels something in his throat and just focus his attention on his hands on the table. The sound of cups and chat and spoons fills the air again, and he tries not to think about the fucking hours he'll have to spend in the tiny office. As the blond comes back and leaves the cup on the table Matt keeps his eyes glued to his pale, elegant wrist. It is of the same colour of milk.

\- May I ask what are you looking at?

Matt lifts his gaze and grins.

\- Nothing. Now can I drink my coffee in peace?

The blond furrows his eyebrows. His voice is low, and Matt feels a shiver jumping down his spine.

\- As you wish, sir.

Matt looks at those pale hands balled into fists. As the boy turns his hair moves smoothly over his shoulders.

Matt opens a little bag of sugar. He empties it all into the cup. The sugar absorbs the coffee and slowly sinks.

He leaves the money on the table. As he passes in front of the counter he spots blond hair.

\- Good morning blondie.

He exits. The waiter leans over the counter, trying to fight with the grin appearing on his face.

When Matt goes back home the street lights are already lit. Matt doesn't like when the neon signs get stamped on his retina. He throws a look into the bar, waiting at the bus stop. The lights are still on, the waiters are moving the chairs, cleaning the floor. Blondie has his hair tied, the curve of his back seems drawn over the white of the wall. Matt lights a cigarette. The lighter flicks on the window's glass. Matt's eyes grow wide as the blond waiter looks at him. He rolls his eyes. And Matt feels something warm in his lower stomach. So many people have rolled their eyes, thinking he was annoying, thinking he was stupid or didn't know how to speak. But God knows he has never thought someone could be so damn hot doing that.

As Matt focuses again the blond's lips are moving. Matt squeezes his eyes. He mouths a "What"?

The blond's paces are fast as he walks towards the door. Matt thinks his hips are narrow. He lightly swings them as he walks. Matt looks at the form of his hand pressing against the glass as he pushes the door.

\- You jerk! What the hell do you want!

Matt blows out the smoke. The blond doesn't flinch.

\- Uh?

The blonds fingers are now grabbing the front of Matt's striped shirt.

\- You answer me! Now!

Matt thinks that the boy's breath is sweet.

\- Well lets see…your name?

He grins as the azure iris waver a bit.

\- What? Are you nuts?

Matt licks his lower lips. He lightly presses his hand over the guy's chest. The boy releases Matt's shirt.

\- Nope. Definitely not.

The sound of the bus' breaks fills their ears.

\- Well see ya blondie.

Matt turns. A said grin is reflected by the bus window.

\- It's Mihael.

Matt doesn't turn. He waves a hand, his heart jumping in his ribcage. The bus door closes. The blond on the side walk rubs the back of his neck. His pale cheeks are a bit flushed. Just a bit.


	2. Transparent masochist bees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Jenwryn for the beta.

Matt curses the morning light crawling into his bedroom. It's like a punch to the eye. He yawns and pads into the kitchen. All that is in the fridge is a bottle of milk and a bottle of ketchup. Matt takes the milk. It expired a week ago. He sits and lights a cigarette. No one to play with last night. Matt feels weird. He brings his knees up and lets the ash fall on the table. He looks at the birthmark on his left foot. It is a light shade of brown. His mom used to say it was because fairies bitten him there. Matt used to reply that fairies shouldn't bite.

Outside it's clouded. The kind of weather that makes you feel light in the heavy air. The heavy air that presses over your skin, over the shells of the cars. Matt randomly pushes papers inside his bag and closes the door behind him. He likes to stop in front of the door and imagine how the empty house is, in this stupid half-light. On the bus there is a group of middle aged women. They talk about their sons, about the new maid. Matt chews the nail of his thumb, leaning against the bus' door. He thinks about the way Mihael's hair dangle over his shoulder as he brings around cups of coffee and glasses of water. Matt wonders whether he has some birthmarks too, whether he still has a family. Matt doesn't know how to deal with family. He hops off the bus, in front of the bar. Matt takes a deep breath and goes ahead.

The blond waiter looks at the clock and bites his lower lip. He thinks he is just a fool, and keeps his gaze on the tray. Two cappuccinos. Mihael remembers he used to go out for breakfast with his father, when he slept at his house. For Mihael seeing someone over the rim of a cup has somehow a bitter taste in it.

Matt knows he is a lazy ass but, really, let's talk about it, four floors by stairs! No way. The elevator is full of sentences and cocks and hearts carved on its walls. Matt grins.

\- Mornin'!

\- Matt, you lazy idiot! C'mon, you're late!

The room is filled with the smell of coffee. Matt leaves his bag on the floor.

\- Gimme some coffee first!

A guy, long hair tied up, grins and pours some coffee into a white mug- I love NY .

\- Here you go, princess!

\- You would like that!

Matt takes a sip. It's bitter. He passes his tongue over his teeth.

Rain drops hit the window and slide down. They seem like masochist transparent bees.

Matt looks at the make-up man putting layers and layers of stuff on a girl's face.

His mother only had a lipstick. It was too bright. Matt was always worried when in the morning she had it plastered on his cheeks. When he was in primary school one day he drew her like that. The teacher scolded him.

Matt feels the cold of the camera under his fingertips. It was his uncle who had put a camera in his hands. It was his cousin's birthday and he'd said "C'mon Matty, take a photo". And Matt had. It was somehow like playing video games.

At the orphanage there weren't photos to be taken. There were no cameras. Just an old game boy and bruised knees and eyes.

\- Hey Matt! We are ready when you are!

The girl has her face painted now. She is standing in front of a panel. Matt likes models better when they are not posing. Right now she chews her lower lip and looks at the bottle of juice in her hand. Matt looks again at the rain outside.

\- C'mon let's start!

Matt likes the sound of the camera shooting, and the moment when the light gets stamped on the model. She seems quite experienced. Matt licks his lower lip and wonders how Mihael reacts to photos. Probably he is one of those who punch the photographer right in the face if they don't want to be photographed.

\- Turn your face a little. Yes, like that.

Matt doesn't recognise his own voice sometimes. So through the eye of the camera, he looks at the model obeying the voice which escaped his lips. His mom had a high pitched voice. Because of that Matt really doesn't like to hear his lovers screaming or moaning as he thrusts into them.

The model sits down and sips a coffee. Matt sits on the floor, his legs crossed. He takes a deep drag from his cigarette as he goes through the photos he has just taken. They appear on the screen, like a slow story. Same body, same product. They told him he should try to take some artistic photos, maybe nudes. Matt, to tell the truth, doesn't understand what artistic means. In the end a photo is a photo. Matt looks again at the model. Her lips are full, and her skin is a dark shade of pink. Mihael's milky wrists flash in his mind. From somewhere down inside of him the desire to lick them surges. Matt has never waited to take someone, not even thought too much. He looks at the sky outside. The clouds are breaking apart, and the light falls down, like blades.

Mihael leans on the counter and watches a man closing his umbrella. He looks again at the clock. What the hell! When did he become so lame?  
Mihael has let only one person stay in his bed for more than just one night. He looks at his face reflected by the glass of the counter. He doesn't know if he wants someone else to dare so much.


	3. What guides the hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Jenwryn for the beta.

It's night. Outside it would be pitch black if there weren't all those neon lights, all those street lamps. Matt presses his forehead against the glass. It's cold. The office is silent. Everyone went home a long ago. Matt likes to remain longer. He likes to have dinner sitting on the wooden floor of the studio, looking at the artificial light outside the window.

He wonders if Mihael has noticed that he didn't go to the bar today. Matt likes the idea of leaving marks on other people. Like those fairy bites. But Matt thinks he probably isn't able to do something like that. Mihael doesn't even know his name.

Matt lays on the wooden floor. He still looks out the window. It has stopped raining. Matt likes the rain, it seems to wash everything away, to leave everything clean and pure. Sometimes Matt thinks he will never be able to come clean. Then the thought of Mihael comes again, like high-tide. Matt knows that it's probably just a temporary craving, yet he can't avoid thinking about him. So slowly he reaches down and unbuttons his jeans. His hand follows the rhythm of imagined white wrists.

 

Mihael cleans the tables. He looks at his face reflected on the glassy surfaces. He tries to chase away the desire, that, like a persistent mosquito, bites the back of his mind. His mom always used to tell him to get stronger, to live on his own, not depending on anyone else. That's why Mihael has always tried hard not to love. But desire betrays him. It has betrayed him many times. And this is the worst kind of desire, the kind which slowly crawls up your muscles, around your organs and squeezes. He bites his lower lip. In the end he doesn't even know the name of the cocky red-head. Somehow he feels uncomfortable now that he has given away his own name instead. Mihael…he doesn't like people to know it. Often they don't even know how to pronounce it. It was his brother's name. When he was born his brother was already long gone. He was happy to carry his name. But many people just saw the creepiness in it.

 

Matt takes a deep drag from his cigarette. The street lamps cast conical lights on the sidewalk. There are wrappers and newspapers sheets. Matt keeps his eyes on the last street lamp next to the bus stop, in front of the bar. Matt chews his lower lip. He has always hated that side of himself that let him have regrets, piling one regret over another. He quickly throws a look through the window. There's only one light on. The chairs are now over the tables. Matt turns his back to the window. He continues to smoke, looking at the buildings in front of him. The windows seem like open mouths, with their false serenity and sense of family. Matt shrugs his shoulders. He hears the sound of the key turning in the key-lock of the bar's door, but he doesn't turn.

He let the cigarette's butt fall to the ground and crushes it under his sneaker. The white of the Converse seems to smile at him from the grey of the asphalt.

Then there are fingers on his shoulder. They are light. Matt turns his head to the side, his hand already balled in a fist.

Mihael's eyes seem even deeper now, beneath the weak light of the street lamp.

\- Hey, Mihael!

Mihael has to swallow as he hears his name spoken by the red-head.

\- Don't say my name so easily, you jerk!

\- Whoo, calm down, blondie! You told me it!

Mihael furrows his brows.

\- You didn't tell me yours though, you fucking idiot!

Matt likes it when Mihael raises his voice. It is strong and lightly high pitched. Matt blinks and tries to concentrate on what Mihael is saying. He feels the desire to hit himself in the gut.

\- I…

Mihael looks at him, his hands on his hips, the light pouring over the glorious gold of his hair.

Matt lifts his arm, and keeps his hand opened in front of Mihael.

\- So what?

\- You have to take it, or I can't introduce myself properly.

Mihael looks at Matt. He grabs his hand.

\- Good! I'm Matt. My pleasure, blondie!

Matt smiles and he hopes Mihael will like his smile. Mihael feels his ears grow hotter. There weren't many smiles meant for him in the past.

He slowly withdraws his hand. Matt thinks Mihael's hands are elegant. His fingers thin, like the bones of a little bird.

\- I'm waiting the bus. Would you like to keep me company?

Mihael shuffles his shoe over the concrete. He remains at Matt's side.

Mihael doesn't like to be left defenceless. But he know sometimes it's the only way. The only way to reach out.

\- You didn't come at the bar today, uh?

Matt feels a bit guilty as a little voice rejoices in his head.

\- I had work to do.

Matt still feels shivers along his spine as he remembers how he had mouthed Mihael's name as he came. It had just rolled off of his lips without thinking, without effort.

Mihael chews his thumb. He looks in front of him, at a couple passing on the sidewalk across the road.

Matt looks at him from the corner of his eye. He wants Mihael to talk.

\- I'm a photographer.

Mihael has never understood the real meaning of photos. They had had photos at home, photos of his mom, his dad and him, but there was no meaning in them. They were just pieces of film pack, nothing more.

Matt turns a bit.

\- Mostly photos for ads.

Mihael nods.

\- You sure aren't the talkative type, unless you are angry, huh?

Matt grins as Mihael lifts his head and glares at him. There's something incredibly fascinating about the energy the blond puts into his rage.

\- Do I have some reasons to talk with you?

Matt smiles.

\- You gave me your name, Mihael.

Mihael swallows. His cheeks are a bit coloured now.

\- Well photos for ads don't seem so great to me.

Matt shrugs.

\- I don't know…they are easy to take. They said to me I should do something more artistic though.

Mihael looks at the light getting caught in the red of Matt's hair. He doesn't know what artistic means but that sight definitely leaves him breathless.

\- What do they mean by artistic?

Matt looks at Mihael's lips as he talks. He looks at how they pronounce the word "artistic", and for an instant he feels like he can understand the meaning of it. He fights the urge to let his fingers touch them.

\- I still don't know.

The bus lights appear at the end of the street.

\- May be I could try and use you as a model.

Mihael feels something stirring inside him, he knows it is the desire that this red-head is pouring into him.

\- You jerk! What the hell are you saying!

Matt grins. The bus door opens.

\- Thanks for keeping me company, Mihael. See ya tomorrow.

Mihael looks at the door closing behind Matt. The bus moves and he looks at his feet. He curses through his teeth, 'cause all he can think about is Matt's grin.  
He begins to walk towards home. The pool of heat in his stomach doesn't fade away. That's why he can't help it once he gets home. He can't help but laying on his bed, trying to make the heat go away, but the movements of his hand follow the light of Matt's smile.


	4. The way I used to be

Mihael likes the way the morning light hurts a bit his sleepy eyes. It's like needles under his eyelids. When he was little he used to look straight into the sun. He wonders how is it to look at the world through the lenses of a camera. He doesn't want to admit how the thought of that freaking photographer has forced itself into his life. What was the jerk's name? Matt, right? It is a simple name. Mihael used to have a friend named like Matt when he was little. He hasn't kept in touch with any of his old friends, in the end he had never let them come too near to him. Love, in his adolescent mind, was something that could wound you oh so deeply.

He lets the water of the shower splash on his skin, through his hair, in his ears, in his mouth.

 

Matt tosses the blanket aside. He looks at the ceiling, wondering how this day will be. He closes his eyes, and opens them again. His lower groin his heavy, he knows that he has dreamt about Mihael. He gets up, the desire almost painful. He pushes himself under the water of the shower, trying to wash away his thoughts, 'cause in the end life has thought him to be realistic. Dreamers get lost more easily. It was like that the first time he had fallen in love. It was with a girl who was in his same class, her name was Linda, and she was Matt's recurrent dream, it was Matt's first wet dream. But she had always been such a mirage. She had never noticed Matt, and Matt had never been so self-confident to talk openly to her. The first time he went to bed with a girl he imagined she was Linda, he was ashamed for that, but it couldn't be helped.

He lets the soap run down, along his tights.

 

Mihael lets the humming of the coffee machines descend inside of his ears and up to his brain, it's calming, it's like being cradled. People talk, their voices still sleepy, some people instead look inside their cups of coffee in silence. Mihael has always been silent in the mornings. He used to dream a lot, and his dreams were always so intense, more than real life, it was almost painful to let them go in the morning.

-Go get the orders! It's not like I pay you to sleep!

Mihael mumbles a "sonofabitch" through his teeth and takes the tray and the note pad. A women, her lips too red for because of her lipstick, orders a coffee, she takes a look at Mihael's azure eyes, "Wouldn't you come to play with me sometimes?", Mihael hand, writing down the ordination, freezes on the spot. He can feel his blood heating up and that's not a good thing, he knows that well after all the street fights he has put himself into since he was barely thirteen.

-I can't. I've already someone I want to play with. I'll get you your coffee.

Mihael feels his cheeks heat up, images of the red-head flashing in his mind. He slowly walks up to the counter to prepare the coffee. There's something reassuring in the way the movements and the steps you have to follow to prepare a cup of coffee are repetitive. You just follow the procedure your brain has memorized and you can slowly disappear in the movements your hands are making almost on their own. Mihael tries to erase the image of Matt's hair, of Matt's hands on him, in the smell of the coffee.

 

Matt looks outside of the bus' windows, the lines of cars waiting for the traffic light to become green. He pushes the stop button, and looks at the people pressed inside the bus around him. There are a boy and a girl, kissing each other, pressed against the bus door, surrounded by indifferent backs. Matt thinks he would never be able to kiss Mihael like that, and it makes him angry that instead he could kiss some stupid girl, on the bus, along the street, without people finding nothing strange in it. When he gets off the bus the first thing he does is look through the bar's window. He looks at the people sitting, at Mihael moving among them as if he doesn't belong there. He passes a hand through the untidy mass of his hair and enters the bar. He walks up to the counter and leans over it, waiting. He really doesn't care if some brainless model has to wait to have her photos taken.

He wonders how Mihael has slept, if he too has waken up feeling confused and wanting to keep on dreaming. Matt still has the sensation that what he has dreamt left on his skin. He still has in his mind pieces of Mihael's skin, his voice, his hands. It has been so long since he last has felt something like this.

 

Mihael stops in his tracks as he sees Mett leaning on the counter.

-Shouldn't you behave more politely in a public place?

-Ah you are such a pain even so early in the morning, Mihael?

Matt lets his voice sink as he pronounces Mihael's name and the blond shivers lightly.

-As if I give a damn about that. So what do you want?

-A coffee, isn't it what people come to get into a place like this?

Matt's grin shines over the surface of the counter, Mihael blushes before turning his back to the red-head and starting preparing the coffee.

Matt starts to play with a sugar bag.

-I was wondering...wouldn't you like to come to my studio after work?

Mihael turns, coffee powder falling on the floor.

-What?

-Didn't I tell you yesterday I wanted to have you as my model?

-Did I ever told you it was alright, you jerk?

Matt grins.

-Well think about it, this is my address. Gotta go now.

-Hey..

Mihael looks at Matt's back and at the card he has left on the counter. He bites his lower lip.


	5. Blossoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Sabriel75

The evening is light. The sky has just started to darken and the people to walk faster to reach their homes. Mihael started to live alone when he was only eighteen. It was not a choice, it was the only thing he could do. He remembers the anxiety, the idea that he would never be able to live alone. But having two houses and not feeling loved or wanted in neither of them was just cutting his heart into pieces. He chews his lower lip as he walks.

Matt pushes the film inside the camera. He takes the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

There are still the models changing themselves in the dressing room, he can hear their laughs. He closes his eyes.

The first time he went to bed with a girl he was amazed by how soft and warm a body could be, but he got tired soon. He soon started to look for more.

He sits on the wooden floor in front of the window and wonders if Mihael is going to come.

Outside the lights of the city are blossoming. Matt's mother used to like flowers, but she wasn't good at taking care of them. There was often that sickly sweet smell of dying flowers in their house. And on that awful day that smell was mixed up with another smell, a smell that only then Matt discovered and started to fear, the smell of blood.

Matt passes a hand through his hair. A sad smile trembles on his face. He has always needed affection, as flowers need water. But in life things don't go as you wish, he knows all too well, he knows all too well that he is alone, the he has been alone for a lot of time. And really it shouldn't make sense to reach out now.

He bites his lower lip thinking about his business card on the bar counter, Mihael's hair falling like soft curtains in front of his face.

A little light trembles reflected in the glass as he lights a cigarette. A flower which blossomed just for a few seconds.

Mihael stops and looks at the entry phone, he looks at the labels with all those names neatly written. He greets his teeth, there is something disgusting and insulting in this order, the order of people with nice houses and smiling families into frames.

He is holding the red-head's business card in his hand, the other balled in a fist. They have always told him that he got angry too easily, they had never understood a thing about him. They had never understood that it was his way to fight fear.

He swallows and press the silver-coloured button beside the "PhotoStudio" label. He feels his cheeks growing hotter as Matt's voice pours out from the entry phone.

-How is it?

Mihael squeezes his eyes shut.

-It's Mihael.

He holds his breath waiting for an answer and cursing himself for having surrender, for having left his legs free to walk till the studio, for having let his heart accelerate its pace.

-C'mon in.

The door opens with a buzz. The air in the hall is cool, Mihael takes a deep breath and slowly shakes his head to focus again. He has never liked lifts. His father lived on the tenth floor, when Mihael went to his house on the week ends at the beginning he had used to climb the stairs, but then his father asked him if he had was dumb or not, if his mother had pushed some weird ideas in his mind. From then on Mihael had always taken the lift. He had learnt how to keep his heart and breath under control while closed in that steel box.

As the lift moves he keeps his eyes fixed on a heart carved into the door. Mihael wonders if Matt has always done something like this for a girl in the past. The only person Mihael let arrive closer to him had never done something like that for him, not that he wanted, just...just they were on completely different lengths, and it was painful sometimes. Like two radio frequencies intertwining and getting separate again, over and over.

The lift's doors open with a dling. Mihael feels his head spinning a bit as he sees Matt leaning against the door frame of the apartment on the right.

-I didn't think you were going to come, Mihael.

The blond shivers as Matt calls his name, and tries to suppress the traitor butterflies which are already starting to swirl around in his stomach. He remains silent, looking at a non defined spot around Matt's collar bone.

-C'mon.

Matt turns hoping that Mihael will follow him, hoping that this is for real and that the blond will not run away while he is not looking. The sound of his heart pounding resonates inside his head, along his veins, it makes the sound of a little lost drum.

He turns again and watches as Mihael closes the door.

-I'll show you around then.

The voices of the models echo in the corridor. Matt turns just in time to see Mihael's blond eyebrows furrowing.

-Hey are you jealous, blondie?

Mihael speaks in a low voice which makes Matt shiver.

-First I'm not jealous of a fucking jerk like you.

-Second?

Mihael's eyes are shining under the artificial light of the corridor.

-Second I gave you my name so that I didn't have to hear that freaking "blondie" all the time, you asshole.

-Look at how cute you are when you get angry!

Matt hopes not to have gone too far this time.

Mihael balls his fists.

-Why, you...

Three girls enter the corridor giggling and stop at the sight of the blond boy standing in front of their photographer.

-Uh you are cheating on us, Matty! Well see you tomorrow!

Mihael tries with all his might not to throw up because of all the perfume they have put on themselves.

-Guess I'll got too.

Matt feels something forming a knot somewhere between his stomach and his heart.

Mihael's eyes grow wide as the red-head grabs his right wrist.

Matt doesn't say anything, Mihael lowers his gaze.

-Alright, I'll stay, but what the hell do you want from me?

Matt grins.

-You will see.

Mihael tries not to think about how fast his heart is beating as Matt drags him in another room.


	6. Keep me here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to awesome Sabriel75 and Jenwryn.   
> Warnings: sexual content

Mihael lets his gaze travel around the room, over the parquet and over the huge windows opened on the city. He realizes that he has always imagined a different place for Matt. It's just like that when you try to imagine a place where you have never been, you imagine it over and over again in the same way and in the end you think it is really like you imagine it.

-C'mon take off your jacket.

Mihael looks at Matt. He doesn't know what to expect, and it makes him nervous. 'Cause he knows that human beings are really similar to animals, they tend to back off in front of people if they have been hit before. And Mihael knows that he has been nothing more than a frightened animal since the day that person simply left him, without a second thought, leaving only his slightly hunched back for Mihael to look at.

-Hey are you alright, blondie?

Mihael grits his teeth and slowly takes off his jacket.

-None of your business!

Matt grins and pads over the wooden floor, reaching out for the jacket. He stops a few inches away from Mihael.

-You know? It's not like you have to be always so harsh on me, mh?

The blond feels his cheeks heating up and tries to keep his eyes focused on Matt's neck-bone instead that on his face.

Matt smiles lightly at the pink colour of Mihael's cheeks. He takes the jacket and pads away.

Mihael frowns. He shifts his feet on the floor, it's smooth, he wonders if Matt is the one to clean the place.

-So do ya like the place?

Mihael turns and looks at Matt holding two cups. The smell of coffee feels the air and the blond's nostrils.

-Isn't it too late to drink coffee?

Matt grins.

-We'll have a lot to work tonight, ya know?

Mihael balls his fists.

-What the hell does it mean?

Matt chuckles.

-C'mon sit down and have your coffee.

Mihael thinks that the wooden floor is warm as the mug between his hands. He tries not to look at Matt and keeps his eyes on the brown, hot liquid.

-What? Are you afraid to look at me?

Mihael's eyes almost shine over the mug as he glares at the red-head. Matt almost forget the mug he is holding, the floor under him as the azure of the blond's eyes seems to swallow everything. It's going to be hard to control himself, Matt knows it. He shakes his head and stands up.

-And now what are you doing?

-Hey princess stop being so nervous! Get ready we are going to start so you won't have to be here with me longer that you want.

Mihael looks at Matt as he prepares the camera, his fingers elegant and fast over the buttons. He still doesn't understand why he has agreed, really what the hell has possessed him! But now he is here and he almost wants to say to Matt that it's not true, that it's not true that he wants to go away soon, but he remains silent. As always.

He stands up.

-So what do I have to do Mr. photographer?

Matt grins, but Mihael is able to see the little sad glint hidden inside his eyes, he has seen that glint so many times looking at his reflected face in the mirror. He bites his lower lip. He almost jumps as he feels Matt's fingers under his chin, tilting up his head. When Matt speaks he is so close that Mihael almost shivers.

-You shouldn't bite your lips, you know?

Matt gently runs a finger over Mihael's lips. He feels something inside of him liquefying as he sees Mihael's irises trebling at the edges and has to use all his strength not to kiss him. He backs off and his voice his almost shaky as he speaks.

-P-please sit over there.

Mihael tries to calm his heartbeat and sits near the window where Matt told him. He has never been so docile with anyone in his life except for the only one he has ever loved, the first one who abandoned him.

-Can you please bring that lock of hair behind your ear?

Mihael looks at Matt, kneeled down in front of him, camera in his hands.

-This one?

He brings a golden lock behind his left ear.

Matt thinks that Mihael's ears are white as his wrists, they seem little white shells.

-Y-yeah like that.

Mihael feels his heart pounding all along his veins, up to his brain, at the idea of Matt watching him through his camera, at the idea of Matt wanting to take a picture of him. But he tries to keep it under control 'cause really he shouldn't have any hope, he shouldn't feel like this for anyone.

Matt looks at the blond through the lenses, he feels his fingertips tingle on the button, he has never been so tense while taking a photo. It's as if he doesn't want to ruin Mihael's image.

He passes a hand through his hair.

Mihael glances at him nervously, and starts to wonder if there's something wrong with himself, 'cause Matt has stopped taking photos.

-I-Is there something wrong?

Matt smiles and Mihael feels his cheeks heating up.

-No, you are perfect.

The words seem to float around in the air between them. Mihael tried hard to push that little single word out of his head, but he couldn't. Perfect. No one, no one has never told him that.

Matt knows that maybe is too much but he has long ago learnt that if you don't try you'll never know, so he gets up and walk towards the blond.

Mihael slides slightly back over the parquet till his back hits the glass and Matt kneels in front of him, red hair falling in front of green eyes. Matt's fingers are hesitant over Mihael's pale cheek. The red-head thinks that Mihael's skin was incredibly smooth, he leans towards him and presses a kiss on the blond's cheek.

Mihael takes in breath, his fingers tingling from the desire to reach out, to touch Matt, instead he looks right into Matt's eyes and turns lightly. Matt feels Mihael's lips against his own. Mihael feels like smiling as he sees Matt's eyes fluttering close.

Matt licks Mihael's bottom lip, and the blond shyly opens his mouth. Their tongues dance around each other as Matt lets his hands travel through Mihael's hair, down his neck, down his chest.

 

Outside the night lights are still lit as they lay on the wooden floor, their bodies pressed against each other. Matt thinks that Mihael seems a flower, with his golden hair spread around his head as a soft corolla, his skin has the same colour as milk. He trails kisses down his neck.

-You know?

-Mhh

-I really want to take a photo of you right now. But I would keep it only for me, I would never want anyone to see how gorgeous you are right now.

Mihael smiles, and Matt can't help but stare, 'cause there something disarming in Mihael's smile, probably because he doesn't smile often.

-I don't believe that photos have a meaning in themselves, but I'd like to have a photo of you too.

Mihael's cheeks are slightly redder as he speaks. He reaches out and traces the contours of Matt's face with his fingers. Because no one has ever taught him to have faith, to believe in what others say or do, but looking at Matt, feeling the heat of his body on his skin he really wants to believe, he really wants to believe that the photographer can stop the time into a photograph and keep him there, never letting him go.


End file.
